Mission: Protect
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: Bucky has been protective of Steve for as long as he can remember. He supposes it makes sense that his serum would amplify that, for better or worse.


**A/N - This ended up being a little messier than I'd like, but the idea's been annoying me all week and I'll take any chance to write that I can get at this stage. I hope you enjoy it though and, as always, any feedback is appreciated :)**

 _Disclaimer: I still own nothing_

* * *

If he's had one mission objective in his life that he does not regret, Bucky thinks it is 'protect Steve Rogers'.

It is an eternal instinct; a constant since childhood that has kept him going through hunger and war and ice, and only wavered when men in white coats took away his mind. He's not sure he can reclaim that childhood or be the same man who first chose to protect Steve ever again, but the mission is a familiar one and he intends to follow it through until he either dies or fails.

He hopes the former happens first. He has been taught that failure is not an option too many times before to let that happen.

* * *

He remembers the objective starting in an alley when he is eight years old, seeing a young, fragile boy fight against teenagers twice his size while refusing to back down. There'd been respect as Bucky stepped in to help, but also fear at the knowledge that if he did nothing, the boy could get hurt (or worse), and he silently promises to always be there to protect Steve from harm as soon as they both become friends.

It is a promise that nearly kills him twice; once when he is fourteen and the drunk they pass on the way home is a little too forceful in trying to take what little money they have. Bucky remembers pushing Steve out of harm's way before hearing the sickening impact he makes against the wall rather than feeling it, and his vision goes white just as he hears Steve scream his name. He wakes sometime later, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough enough to see Steve sitting by his bedside with red-rimmed eyes. He hears the boy calling him an idiot though, in between choked laughter born from relief, and he's able to smile before he drifts off again.

The second time takes place on a fast-moving train with a shield in his hand. There's a flash of blue, the feeling of wind biting at his skin and then nothing, until seventy years of hell unfolds beyond his control.

His mission parameters change during those seventy years. Protect becomes harm, and Steve's name vanishes to make way for the nameless victims he is sent out to kill. He quickly finds that he is effective in these missions, but the urge to kill does not come as naturally to him as his handlers would like and on the rare occasions where he has time to think for himself, the Asset knows that something is missing.

It is only when his mind is fractured further on a broken helicarrier and 'kill' reverts back to 'protect' that his world realigns, and his mission continues as if it had never been interrupted when he pulls his charge free from icy waters.

* * *

Bucky knows he has always been protective of his loved ones, whether they be family or friends or his fellow men in the 107th, but a small part of him suspects that that aspect of his personality had been amplified by Zola's serum as surely as Steve's goodness had been amplified by Erskine's.

It is a thought that chills him, but also makes more sense than he can ignore. His concerned protectiveness has become fierce; his willingness to put himself in harm's way to save Steve escalating further to being willing to kill should it keep the man alive.

It is a terrifying thought, but one he adapts to quickly.

Bucky wonders if Steve knows just how deeply his need to protect him is ingrained into his soul. He wonders what Steve would think if he knew just how willingly Bucky would throw his life away should it benefit him in any way; wonders whether that is more likely to hurt him or make him indulge in the total control he has over another human being.

It would likely be the former, and it is for that reason that Bucky does not tell Steve how he feels. Steve is a good man after all, who bleeds more compassion than Bucky can ever imagine having.

Whereas he is someone who would let the world burn if it meant that his friend survived.

He does not need that cold reminder that he does not deserve Steve, but it haunts him on long nights anyway.

* * *

He fails his mission on a quiet Sunday morning, or so he thinks. He slips away from the base they've set up for themselves, makes his way to a small park with a lazily flowing river, and stuffs both hands into the pockets of a hoodie that is far too warm for such a bright day. He ignores his discomfort in favour of blending in – he needs the fresh air somehow, general public be damned – and he only flinches slightly when his phone starts to ring and disturb the rush of water and birdsong.

Steve's number flashing on the screen is what compels him to answer, but it's a different voice who speaks, and Bucky barely has time to contemplate what he's hearing before he's sprinting back to base; all subtlety forgotten.

He wants to believe it is a trick. That Rumlow's taunts on the other end of the line are baseless and that Steve's number showing up is a trick designed by Hydra to reel him back in. His panic doesn't allow such possibilities to sink in, however. If Steve is with Rumlow against his will then it will not be long before he is dead, and that will mean that Bucky has failed.

He cannot fail.

The 'base' is more of a quiet house than anything fancy, and Bucky abandons all subtlety as he barges in the front door and scans the kitchen and lounge as completely as he can. The place seems untouched, with furniture laid out exactly as it had been when he'd left, but it is too quiet even for a lazy day like this and Steve should have heard him come in. Sam wanders into the lounge instead, bleary eyed and still wearing yesterday's t-shirt, but Bucky has little time to pay attention to the man's questions as he barges past him and into Steve's room.

The bed is made and the place is spotless, but Steve is not here and Bucky knows the man wouldn't leave the house without good reason, due to the building tension in the outside world. He turns to Sam, who stands at the doorway with barely masked confusion, and tries to keep his voice level when he asks, "Where is he?"

Sam must know who he means but he hesitates in a way that Bucky doesn't trust, and he's all too aware that the man does not have the protection of familiarity that he and Steve share. He would not hurt Sam, Bucky knows, but Sam has no way of knowing that and his answer seems all too careful when he finally feels able to tell it.

"I don't know. He went out while I was asleep. Just left a note to say that something important had come up and he needed to go alone." Sam at least has the dignity to look concerned, but Bucky can't focus on that and only hears Rumlow's words echoing in his head. _We lured him out, told him we'd got our hands on you. I tell ya,_ _he's like a trained dog, just came running instantly..._

Steve isn't here. Steve left their place of safety because he thought Bucky was in danger. Steve's in Hydra's hands and it's all his fault.

Sam's voice fades into the background; his growingly frantic requests for Bucky to tell him what's going on vanishing to white noise, and Bucky feels his legs collapse like liquid from underneath him as his chest starts to heave. His back rests against the bed, but otherwise he's on the floor in a heap, his mind a mess aside from the persistence mantra of ' _I failed, I failed, I failed...'_ and he expects to break down and sob or even become catatonic as was normal in his days as the Soldier, but instead he finds his head being thrown back and his chest shuddering painfully as he _laughs._

* * *

Sam is afraid of him. He takes great care to hide it - and almost manages it - but Bucky had caught that glint of fear snaking onto the man's face and his cautious step backwards as he'd given into hysteria.

The hysteria has faded and though his chest still aches, Bucky finds that he can breathe. However, he knows that even though he is now calm, Sam must still fear him. He is good at pretending he does not; at playing calm and setting about making phone-calls to Natalia or Fury or whoever else he has access to, but Bucky mastered hiding his emotions out of necessity long before Sam was even alive. He knows how to spot the cracks.

It does not matter. Sam is not a target, not while he helps track down Steve, and the fear will probably do him good. A slight tinge of distrust will keep the man alive for longer, just in case any of Bucky's old triggers break, and it's a distrust he often wishes Steve shared. Steve, who would let a notorious assassin beat him to a pulp if only to remind him that he'd once been human.

Steve's an idiot. Bucky knows that protecting him is going to get him killed one day, but he has long since stopped caring.

Sam lowers his phone and pulls on a jacket, barely having time to utter a location before Bucky is on his feet and heading for the door. He leaves the house alone, ignoring the shouts from the man at his back, and his gun burns in his hand with the need to pull the trigger on Rumlow's face.

* * *

His world is red.

He watches it pool on grey concrete; watches it trickle down his metal arm in rivulets and takes comfort in the fact that it is not his own. He hurts, with aches and scratches and what may be a knife wound littering his body underneath the black of his sweater, but he has tasted death before and he knows it will not claim him today.

He cannot say the same for the men splayed messily around him, but they are no longer his concern.

He cannot remember killing them. If he has one regret, it is this; that he cannot remember ending the lives of those who had dedicated years to controlling his own, and who had tried to take the one thing making his continued existence worthwhile away from him. The sight of their bodies ought to be enough, but he is too tired to care about them and he is too overwhelmed by all of his minor hurts to think rationally even while he takes the time to stand still.

A hand gently lands on his shoulder and he knows without looking who it belongs to, and it forces a strangled sob from his chest. The hand stays where it is while another comes up to the side of his face, drawing his gaze away from the carnage and allowing him to focus on tired blue eyes and a bruised, but otherwise unharmed, face. He expects Steve to be disgusted but he only looks concerned, and it's this that has Bucky resting his head against the man's chest while he lets himself be lowered to the floor - until they're both crouched together in a huddle like children; hurt and tired but alive.

"It's all right," he hears whispered above him as Steve's hand moves from his face to his hair and starts running through long strands soothingly. Bucky's eyes are closed; he can only hear and feel Steve, but that is more than enough. "I'm here, I'm right here. You can stop now."

Bucky's not sure he knows how to stop. He doesn't know how many more men will die in order for him to be able to keep Steve safe, doesn't know how much more blood he will have to spill. Their lives are dangerous and protecting each other is even more so, but he knows he will never be able to stop doing it while Steve lives.

He can indulge in a brief respite, however. He has exterminated an entire Hydra base and he got Steve back before he could come to more harm than Bucky can fix. For today, he can rest.

He feels Steve press a soft kiss to his forehead and he thinks the man may be crying from the way his chest shudders slightly, but he doesn't bother to look. There is a bizarre comfort to all of this, despite the pain and the wetness of blood that is not his own and the knowledge that they are surrounded by the dead. That fact must disturb Steve more than he's letting on, but the man has lived through war and Bucky knows that what he sees now will not faze him as much as the adoring public would expect. Still, he has no wish to force him to stay. The sooner they leave this place behind, the better.

Steve seems to understand without Bucky even uttering a word, as he pulls away – only slightly, not enough for the contact between them to be broken – and starts to get to his feet. Bucky follows and opens his eyes, and it strikes him that Steve is focusing on him as if he's the only other person in the world. For all he knows, he could be, and it wouldn't even matter.

"Let's go home," Steve says, his exhaustion finally seeping through, and Bucky nods and starts making his way out of the Hydra base with Steve at his side. A small part of him yearns for home to be old Brooklyn streets and an apartment that barely supports them both, but he knows he can leave those memories behind so long as Steve remains constant.

* * *

" _You're my friend,"_ Steve had said a lifetime ago, when Bucky had stopped existing in favour of a ghost whose only function was to kill.

He remembers his own response of _"You're my mission,"_ all too vividly, and there's an element of truth there that still stands no matter how rapidly 'Bucky' starts to come back. Protecting Steve gives him far more purpose than harming him ever could, however, and Bucky knows he will never give up so long as he can continue falling asleep in warm, familiar arms and waking up to soft smiles that haven't changed even after all these years.

There's a selfishness in that, he thinks, but he stopped caring long ago. He can endure being selfish if it helps him complete his mission successfully.


End file.
